THE THREE E-Book

MARK BEWLEY

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

A NEW STORY FROM THE BEWLEY STABLES. Inspired by a classic fairy tale this, weird mixture of werewolves versus a chainsaw weilding seriel killer, three friends go on a journey that will change their lives forever.

When Taraka Hoga and his friends George and Tommy are attacked by an unknown creature in the woods, they know they will be different from now on. Then a woman is killed.

Leseprobe

MARK BEWLEY

THE THREE

A NOVELA

This short novel tells of the three men who has been friends for years embark on a journey of discovery and horror. Taraka Hoga, tells the story as it unfolds from that night when their lives changed forever. Three pigs become the three little wolves.BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

AT THE BEGINNING

We heard about it on the TV news. We were all at my place on this night: me, George and Tommy. We were always together. We had known each other for years, since we were very young boys. At school we called ourselves the Three Little Pigs. From those early days we always said we were like the Three Little Pigs in the fairy story. The bullies were the wolves, but we always got away. Most of the time anyway. All three of us would receive a punch or four in the face from time to time. The wolves huffed and puffed, and they got us. Eventually we learned to escape and find our place of sanctuary: the school library. We learned a lot in there, history, geography, science, but mainly it was a place to hide.

‘Three more people have been found dead,’ said that pretty dark haired woman who reads the news at six o’clock. ‘And their bodies were terribly mutilated.’

‘Have you seen this? This is horrible,’ I called to George and Tommy. But they weren’t watching the TV screen; no, they were looking at their mobile phones. Eventually George turned around with his hand on his chin.

‘I don’t like that one bit, Taki.’ He always called me that. He couldn’t pronounce my real name. My parents were from Japan. They named me Taraka, so George shortened it to Taki.

George Pigg, that was his full name. Tommy’s dad was a farmer, his surname was Pick. My second name is Hoga. In Japanese this word has nothing to do with pigs, yet there you are. Silly really. So we called ourselves The Three Little Pigs (Pigg, Pick and Hoga).

‘Nor me,’ said Tommy, who never called me anything really.

‘I know what this is,’ I announced. This felt like a confession and came to me as the other two were drinking beer.

‘WHAT?’ George and Tommy asked me together.

‘Do you remember one evening a few years ago- you know on that night?’

‘You mean, that night?’ said Tommy. He knew exactly what night I was talking about.

‘Yes,’ I said. That was the night…the night when we changed and earned a secret that we had to keep. And that was the night we met him, or rather crossed him and witnessed what he did. Now the secret was about to come out into the open.

‘That poor girl,’ mused George, his face almost twisting. He was on the brink of a full transformation. Tonight was a full moon. None of us pigs could ever forget that night.

‘He was killing long before that, George,’ I said.

‘If that is him,’ added Tommy, negatively and pointing at the TV. ‘If it is we may have the opportunity to finish him. End him like we always wanted to.’

‘It’s never been that easy has it?’ added George showing his hairy palms. ‘And why does he have to wear people’s slimy faces? What a freak.’

‘He doesn’t want to see himself,’ I informed him. ‘He doesn’t want to believe that he kills. And he always seems to survive. I’m not sure how but he escapes every time. Every single time.’

‘I hate him, Taki. I just hate him.’

‘I know, George. I know,’ I replied.

‘But we have never got anywhere near him, have we?’ said Tommy. ‘So where is he now, do you think?’ He kept his yellow eyes on the TV. Coarse hairs had begun growing up along his arms.

‘He could be on the other side of the country by now,’ I suggested as half a joke.

‘I reckon he is not too far away,’ claimed George, his rage mellowing a little, although the teeth had almost come through, and his snout protruding. ‘I can smell the fat pig.’

‘You may be right there, George,’ I conceded. But if that monster was near, he had no idea who we were. If we, the Three little Pigs were to defeat him, our mission may have to come about by chance. Just like that attack happened to us. Just by chance. We were all ready for our monthly night out. We looked nothing like Three Little Pigs, either.

BEFORE

This hefty figure grunted. That’s what I remember about him. I have heard that horrible sound a couple of times now. And the stench…the stench was so powerful, like sour milk and motor oil. I confess not to know much about the background of the face-wearing creature. I can only guess about his childhood…

…His mother and father were brother and sister, there is no doubt about that in my mind. If not that then he was created by some other diabolical means: by a deranged scientist, formed by lightning, spliced with a dog, or bear or monkey or…devil.

He was not a good looking child; pig-like, his nose pointing upwards towards the sky. And two dark eyes that stared out at nothing. Orbs black and empty. A drooping mouth, always drooling with a horrible twisted half smile. He had seen himself in the mirror probably no more than once in his whole life. That was enough for him, never again would he stare at that grotesque image. This was probably the reason why he enjoyed to kill. Or maybe his dad-uncle taught him how to hunt, to cut open a pig’s guts, or deer or maybe a little brother or sister. He learned to endure or enjoy the screams, while becoming accustomed to the smell of blood. Once the taste was on his tongue, there was no chance of turning back.

I doubt very much that this creature has genitals, probably not. His behavior shows there is a lot of frustration in that area. Any pleasure he has ever received has been purely from killing. This is my view anyway.

The other pigs and me hadn’t spoken about that night since. I saw him, but I wasn’t sure if they had. We could only have heard him grunt or perform a horrible song on that thing; that sound of the chainsaw he possessed, the ghastly weapon he used for playing out his horrid desires. The Three Little Pigs were all very preoccupied with what happened to them on a cold, still, winter night when we all changed. When all our life’s changed.

CRY WOLF

George was drunk that night, the night we changed, but Tommy and me had just sipped a couple of beers. Pigg had been drinking whisky all night. Not sure why, he’s mother died about a month before, maybe that made him drink. However he doesn’t drink much now. As we walked home from our Pigs Night Out as we called it, Tommy made an observation.

‘That moon is very bright tonight.’

‘It’s a full moon, Tommy,’ I informed him. ‘That’s why.’

‘It’s really big, like the sun.’

‘It’s a full moon,’ I told him again.

‘But it looks very big,’ Tommy went on. ‘I know it’s a full moon. But it seems really close.’

‘Yes, it is big tonight.’ I’d decided to actually lift my head to look at the ancient satellite this time.

‘You’re right Tommy, the moon is big tonight,’ I confirmed for myself. ‘I can almost touch it.’

‘It’s a full moon, you know,’ Tommy laughed. ‘Where’s George?’

‘I don’t know, Tommy; it’s a bloody full moon!’ I answered. After this we heard a gargling sound. A low, deep sound about 100 yards from us.

‘He’s over here,’ called Tommy, who was shouting from somewhere near a tree on the far side of the park next to the woods. I didn’t really see anything else, for the very next moment I felt something strong strike me from behind, and I was out for the count. What followed was a type of dream.